Scarlet Nail Polish
by fabala-fae
Summary: “And I've heard that you can't fight love, so I won't complain – why would I stop the fire that keeps me going on?” Carter/Abby.


Title: Scarlet Nail Polish  
  
Summary: "And I've heard that you can't fight love, so I won't complain - why would I stop the fire that keeps me going on?" Carter/Abby.  
  
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"I can't see you anymore."  
  
The words were blunt, cold, too raw for the fresh morning. They'd awoken in each other's arms again, drenched in the glow of the morning, draped by the tousled sheets that served no purpose than to be the waters of their drowning. Her legs tangled in his; his arms blanketed around her back; her face nestled somewhere between his chin and his chest. His head was bent, his lips resting against the top of her head in the kiss in which he'd fallen asleep.  
  
Her words were sudden, especially since neither had made any movement indicating consciousness. He stirred and placed his cheek against her forehead.  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
Her breath paused, and she seemed to be rethinking her words. But they came anyway.  
  
"Because I'm getting married today."  
  
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I can't help it  
  
I couldn't stop it if I tried  
  
The same old heartbeat fills the emptiness I have inside  
  
---------------------------------------------------  
  
Abby watched their hands, outstretched in the air, interlaced so that the delicacy of her fingers was the only contrast to the masculinity of his. "Let me paint your nails?"  
  
"What?" He looked over at her with alarm. "No!"  
  
"I have a red I need to try out," she explained, lazily shifting her hand in his. The movement was simple, but it was John's easy reciprocation that intrigued her. One change in position and he unconsciously shifted in turn. This beautiful predictability made staring at their hands somehow fascinating - as a sort of experiment, Abby stroked his index finger with her own. He did the same. "Please?"  
  
"Abby, I thought I was clear on this," he sighed with mock misery lacing his voice. "Never again."  
  
With a sigh, she brought their hands back down again, and tossed his hand onto his chest with disregard. "Fine," she pouted. "I'll have to experiment on my own nails."  
  
"Isn't red nail polish with a wedding dress a sort of fashion don't?"  
  
She propped herself up on her elbow and wrinkled her nose at him. "I don't want to talk about that."  
  
"You brought it up." The twinkle that always lingered in his eyes (at least, whenever she looked in them - she liked to think it existed solely for her) only barely covered an emotion that Abby couldn't quite decipher. Worry? Dread? She prayed it wasn't dread. This was hard enough for her already . . .  
  
"Didn't."  
  
He smirked at her, but there were no ill feelings behind it. Before she could smirk back he looked over her shoulder, and commented "It's getting bright outside."  
  
"Isn't," she replied with a yawn, leaning back down to rest her head on his chest. Immediately he brought his hand to the back of her head; brushing the hair from her neck, he fondly stroked her soft skin with the side of his thumb. "It's still early," Abby assured him. "We have plenty of time."  
  
Abby felt a slight murmur through his chest, but otherwise there was no reply. All she could do was lean up as far as she could, and press her lips to the crook of his neck. "We have plenty of time."  
  
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And I've heard that you can't fight love, so I won't complain  
  
Why would I stop the fire that keeps me going on?  
  
----------------------------------------------  
  
Her hips were fluid with his - there was no longer any question of this. They knew every inch of each other's skin, every curve of each other's body, every tiny spot that would make the other moan low in their throat until both could take no more. She knew he was powerless in her hands as long as her lips stayed close to his ear, and it frankly didn't matter what she said - the hypnosis was the same. Though his increasingly fevered movements against her body fluctuated with how quickly she kissed his neck, she knew that he melted in her grasp.  
  
And for the first time in her life, Abby could allow herself to allow him in -not just sexually, but to know how she needed to be held, where she needed to be touched. Every time a man would possibly try to predict what she wanted, she'd change the pace or distract him somehow. It was entirely possible that until now, she'd never known how she wanted to be treated by a man. Only he could make her feel this way, make her eyes loll closed as she could actually feel herself losing control to him. No two experiences with him were the same - redefining "intimacy," redefining "making love," no longer just polite ways of saying "sex." It was passion without the porn; love without the linger. God knew that they'd lingered long enough by now.  
  
Her thoughts were broken as he absorbed her again, and the room was shattered with her gasp.  
  
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Cause when there's you, I feel whole  
  
And there's no better feeling in the world  
  
But without you I'm alone  
  
And I'd rather be in love with you  
  
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"Is he a good man?"  
  
Abby looked up at him from the foot of the bed, where she was lying on her stomach and leisurely dangling her feet in the air. "You know the answer to that."  
  
He gave her a brief smile. "I want to hear you say it."  
  
With a sigh she dipped the tiny brush into the tiny bottle, and dragged the blood-red paint across his middle toenail. "He's a wonderful man," she told him softly. "He's good, he's kind, he's loving . . ."  
  
"Hey, not too much there, I have to go out in public today."  
  
Abby scoffed and placed the brush back in the nail polish bottle. "Who's going to see your feet?" she questioned, holding the bottle between her thumb and forefinger and shaking it quickly. "You're not going barefoot, are you?"  
  
He gave her a wry smile. "Maybe I will."  
  
"You wouldn't dare," she commented, rolling over on her back. Like a reflect he brought his knees up for her to prop herself against - she smiled fondly when she noticed he moved his feet gingerly, as to not smear the nail polish.  
  
"What?"  
  
She blinked once. "What?"  
  
He grinned, and titled his head slightly - "You're staring."  
  
"Am not," she informed him, and dangled the bottle in front of him for effect. "Be good or you're getting war-paint."  
  
"I've already *got* war-paint," he reminded her, wiggling his toes slightly. "And I can take it off at any time."  
  
"Hmm, right," she commented, unscrewing the bottle again and continuing on the toe she left off. "Except there's no nail polish remover in the bathroom."  
  
He gaped at her. "That's just . . . *evil,*" he pronounced, horrified. Before she could reply he dragged his big toe across her thigh, leaving a long red streak against her pale skin.  
  
Abby shrieked and pulled away from him, a twinge of delight hidden in her squeals. "Oh, you asked for it!"  
  
"Yeah, what are you gonna do?" His eyes twinkled mischievously.  
  
Wrinkling her nose, she slid over him and made her way to the head of the bed. "Give me your fingers."  
  
"No, no, I don't think so . . ."  
  
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Turn out the lights now  
  
To see is to believe  
  
I just want you near me  
  
I just want you here with me  
  
And I'd give up everything only for you  
  
It's the least that I could do  
  
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They were silent for a long time after she spoke. Idly she traced her fingers along his, which rested protectively on her stomach as he cradled her against him. His shoulder was her pillow - she was trying not to cry.  
  
"And you moved out that night?"  
  
She nodded without words. "Just walked out the door . . . packed some clothes and my toothbrush, and walked out the door."  
  
He nodded, and rested his head against hers. "Did she send anyone after you, the cops, your brother . . ."  
  
"My brother caught up with me the next day, he assumed I'd be at Richard's. Lots of yelling. I think I threw something at him." The chuckle rising in Abby's throat was blocked by the sob she'd been hiding there, and it came out as a sort of choke in her voice. She felt him lean down to kiss her cheek and unconsciously she rested closer in his embrace. There was something about this, sitting against the headboard with him, wrapped in his arms . . . "I just . . . couldn't be there anymore. I couldn't watch her destroy herself or Eric or me anymore. The day before I left she went to my room and completely trashed it - I'm talking stripped the wallpaper, tore open the pillows, ripped up the carpet . . I never did know what the hell she was looking for." She paused. "I've told you this before, haven't I?"  
  
"Not like that," he murmured, setting his chin on her shoulder with his cheek against her neck. She could feel his breath against her skin, and it was as comforting as his arms encircling her. "You've said it in different words."  
  
Abby sighed, and closed her eyes wearily. "Why do you put up with me, telling the same stories over and over and over? . . ."  
  
He kissed her jawbone gently, much less a sensual gesture than an answer to her question. "When do you have to go?"  
  
"I've got an hour." She wished she didn't know that by heart. "You'll be there . . . right?"  
  
He was silent for one horrifyingly tense moment, and Abby lifted her head to look back at him. "Right?"  
  
"I don't know." His eyes were vacant, and she wanted to die. All this time, she'd dreaded that look on his face . . .  
  
And apparently he saw the dread on her own, because his expression relaxed and he smiled. "Of course I'll be there," he assured, and kissed her softly on the lips. "I'll always be there."  
  
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Cause when there's you, I feel whole  
  
And there's no better feeling in the world  
  
But without you I'm alone  
  
And I'd rather be in love with you  
  
And I feel you holding me  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
They'd been staring into each other's eyes for what seemed like hours, both lying on their sides, not touching. The need for actual speech had ceased for the moment as they has the conversation of a thousand words, yet with none - slowly Carter brought his hand to her cheek, and she closed her eyes slightly.  
  
When she opened them, he was frowning. "You flinched."  
  
She tilted her head inquisitively. "What?"  
  
"You flinched when I reached out to touch you."  
  
"I . . ." Abby shrugged indifferently. "It was a reflex, I guess. When it looks like someone's moving to poke out my eye, I flinch."  
  
"But I wasn't going to hurt you," he reasoned, moving to stroke her cheek again. Abby made sure not to close her eyes this time. "I love your eyes too much to poke them out."  
  
She smiled, and tilted her lips to kiss the side of his hand. "How do I know you don't want some souvenir to remember me by?"  
  
His slight grin faded slightly, and his hand paused on her skin. "I was under the impression that I didn't need anything to remember you by."  
  
"You want to forget me?"  
  
"No, no," he answered quickly. "I couldn't if I tried - trust me."  
  
Abby raised an eyebrow and propped her chin on her hand. "You're not exactly charming me here."  
  
He shook his head - touching her bottom lip with his thumb, he smiled. "You're burned into me," he grinned. "I had to live for years pretending that I wasn't in love you with you. It does bad things for the soul."  
  
"Does it?" Abby asked, her expression relaxing as she caught herself in his gaze once again. "By tomorrow I'll be an old married woman. Are you going to want to touch an old married woman?"  
  
The twinkle of mischief was back in his eyes, and he tucked a strand of her disheveled hair behind her ear. "A thousand times over . . ."  
  
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Why are we afraid to be in love?  
  
To be loved - I can't explain it  
  
I know it's tough to be loved  
  
----------------------------------------  
  
"I could bleach the tips of your hair," Abby offered. She was sitting cross- legged on the bed with his head resting on her leg, and methodically she sifted his hair though her fingers. "You'd look good as a blonde."  
  
"Good?"  
  
"Interesting," she remedied.  
  
The corners of his mouth turned up into a grin, though from Abby's perspective, it was more of an upside-down facial contortion than anything. He gazed up at her and she smiled down at him. "One blonde between the two of us will have to do," he teased.  
  
Abby leaned forward to drape her hair across his face, slowly dragging the golden tresses from his chin to his forehead and back again. "You like my hair?"  
  
"I do," she could hear him murmur, and with a smile she pulled her hair into a loose twist and tossed it behind her shoulder. He was still staring up at her - slowly she leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.  
  
"How long do you have?"  
  
Abby's only movement was to silently place her forehead on his. "I don't care," she murmured. "This is where I want to be right now."  
  
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And I feel you holding me  
  
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"Are you afraid?"  
  
The question took Abby by surprise - in a moment, she turned around from her place at the closet. "Afraid of what?"  
  
"Afraid to spend the rest of your life with one man." From the bed, leisurely covered by the white sheets, he looked up at her with interest. "Do you dread it?"  
  
Abby considered this as she replaced the hanger in the closet. "I wouldn't have said yes if I dreaded it."  
  
This silenced Carter for a long moment. When Abby turned around with a pair of pants and a blouse in hand, she caught him staring at her again. "What?"  
  
"Nothing. I just assumed you'd be wearing something . . . fancier."  
  
"The gown's at Susan's," she reminded him, opening up her drawer and taking out a bra and panties. "I'm not getting dressed until I absolutely have to."  
  
"But you're getting dressed *now,*" Carter pouted, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"Exactly. I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago." Abby expertly fastened her bra, and slipped her shirt over her head. "Susan's going to kill me."  
  
"Well, I wouldn't want that." Slowly he stood up, and Abby didn't see him standing in front of her until she'd put on her pants and straightened up again. "But I think she'll understand."  
  
"Right," Abby commented, glancing up at him briefly before stepping past him for the closet. "'Sorry for being late for my own wedding, I felt like having sex with Carter all morning and I couldn't be bothered to get here on time.'"  
  
He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, and gently kissed the back of her neck. "I think she'd accept that, if she's a real friend."  
  
Abby frowned, but made no effort to shirk his embrace. "You must be thinking of a different Susan. I'm thinking of the one that threatened my life when I couldn't pick out a gown fast enough. She's a fucking Nazi maid of honor."  
  
This didn't push his lips from her neck, and he rested his forehead against her shoulder. "I don't want you to go."  
  
She was still in his arms - as if she had a choice to be otherwise. "I have to."  
  
"No," he murmured, gently turning her around so they were facing each other. "Not yet."  
  
"Carter," she sighed reluctantly. "I-"  
  
But her words were interrupted by his lips pressed to hers - the kiss quickly became deep, passionate, and despite her better instincts, Abby brought her arms around his neck as she reciprocated easily. He was urgent in his sensuality, and as the kiss forcibly broke several moments later, she weakly gazed into his eyes.  
  
"At least let me call her to tell her I'll be late," Abby had time to murmur before he eagerly kissed her again.  
  
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Oh, oh  
  
And when there's you, I feel whole  
  
And there's no better feeling in the world  
  
But without you I'm alone  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
"That," John proclaimed, taking her left hand and eyeing it carefully, "is a pathetic excuse for an engagement ring."  
  
Abby snatched her hand back and rested against his chest, admiring the tiny stone on the silver band fondly. "I happen to love this ring, thank you very much. It's simple, it's understated . . . it's lovely."  
  
His face was set in a scowl. "Women are supposed to want huge diamonds, with complicated sounding names and the ability to give you a hand cramp just by wearing it. This," he added, picking up her hand and scoffing at it, "is ridiculous."  
  
"Well, the next time you want to propose to me, you can go all out and have the Hope Diamond fitted onto my finger." She squeezed his hand slightly before taking it back again, and gazing adoringly at her ring. "Do you know that my fiancee picked this out all on his own?"  
  
"Did he now?" Carter looked over at her, unable to keep the smile from his face. "He must be a smart guy."  
  
"Nah," Abby considered, reaching up with her foot to pat him on the cheek. "He's kind of an idiot sometimes. But he's got great taste in women's jewelry."  
  
Carter's grin spread, and he shifted over in the bed to kiss her on the small of her back. "Maybe he just knows what you like."  
  
"Maybe." She didn't take her stare from the ring, or the smile from her face. "I think he wanted to get me a bigger diamond, though."  
  
"He probably thinks you deserve it," Carter reasoned, his kisses slowly trailing up her back. "And he also probably got brainwashed at the jewelry shop by the guy insisting that the bigger the diamond, the better the chance of saying yes."  
  
Abby finally tore her gaze from the tiny diamond, and leaned her head back receptively. "He should have known what I was going to say, regardless of what was in the little velvet box."  
  
"Ohhh, see, I didn't realize he was psychic."  
  
She grinned, and turned her head when his lips reached her shoulder. "Seems like he is, sometimes," she mused, and with a meek smile, she kissed him softly.  
  
And yet just as the kiss was beginning to deepen, Carter backed away a tiny bit. "Does he treat you well?" he whispered.  
  
Abby didn't hesitate - he'd never asked her this question before, but for some reason, the answer was on the tip of her tongue. "He taught me what it means to be treated well."  
  
His eyes ducked down briefly, and when he looked back up, Abby swore that she could see the slightest hint of tears. "He's a lucky man," he mused, and leaned closer to kiss her once again.  
  
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And I'd rather be in love  
  
Yes, I'd rather be in love  
  
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"John Carter," Abby retorted, planting her hands on her hips in front of the doorway. "I have two hours to get my hair done, get someone to help me into my gown, and get used to writing 'Abigail Carter' on my checks. You need to get out of my way."  
  
"Fine," he groaned, and stepped out of her way. "You really don't need to take so long getting ready. I'm planning on taking 20 minutes on getting into my tux, combing my hair, and maybe shaving."  
  
"Don't even start with that maybe shit," Abby lectured, running her hand along his stubbly cheek as she passed through the doorway. "You're shaving - and showering - or I'm leaving your ass at the altar."  
  
"Fair enough." He smiled down at her, leaning against the doorframe, and squeezed her hand. "I still wish you didn't have to go."  
  
Even though she was suddenly stressed out of her mind, Abby allowed him a smile. "Think of it this way," she reasoned. "In a few hours you get to spend the whole rest of your life wishing I was somewhere else."  
  
His grin broadened as he leaned down to kiss her softly. "Never."  
  
She kissed him back, and gave him a wink as she pried herself from his grasp. "You haven't seen me during a football game," she commented as she turned to cross the hall. "You'll be pleading for a divorce."  
  
"I hate football," he called out, tapping the doorframe anxiously as she went. "Abby!"  
  
Frustrated now, she turned around. "*What*?"  
  
He tilted his head innocently. "I love you."  
  
"I love you, too," Abby replied, rolling her eyes with mock irritation. "Now go get dressed or I'm sleeping with the next ample man I see - and the male strip club is just barely out of the way to Susan's."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," he grinned as he heard the door shut behind her. His gaze fell to the ground . . . and onto his scarlet colored toes. For a brief moment he considered using something to take the polish off - pictures of anything from rubbing alcohol to lighter fluid ran through his mind - when he remembered the look on her face as she'd applied it.  
  
With a fond, amused smile, he stepped back into the bedroom and pulled his tux from the closet.  
  
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Oh, I'd rather be in love with you  
  
And I feel you holding me . . .  
  
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End file.
